Stranger by the Day
by Veruka and Faith Accompli
Summary: A mysterious magic transforms all of the adults at Hogwarts into their fifteen-year-old selves. Can four unlikely and rather inept heroes right this wrong? Updated: Band of Buggered become bewitched, Beetled and bewildered.
1. Default Chapter

Stranger by the Day  
  
Authors: Veruka and Faith Accompli  
  
Disclaimer: All characters are property J.K. Rowling; no © infringement intended or profit made.  
  
Notes: Awhile ago we started a story by the name of Roseblood. We sort of lost the desire to write it, so we scrapped it and reworked it into this. Comments welcome and appreciated, hope you all enjoy. Oh, and the actual de-aging doesn't come until the first actual chapter. The prologue's just to set everything up.  
  
  
  
Prologue - A Semblance of Normalcy  
  
  
  
Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, stood in the centre of the staff room amidst a sea of mismatched furniture, his arms raised to call for silence, a noble king seeing over his complacent, organised court of unruffled, jovial professors.  
  
"What a monstrous load of crap!" Professor Sinistra's voice somehow managed to rise above the bedlam, and for a moment, Dumbledore wondered if she'd read his thoughts. A jovial court, the faculty was not -- nor were they ever at the mandatory weekly staff meetings. Shove them all in a room together, and their great minds were reduced to those of adolescents', squabbling, backbiting, and generally acting like a bunch of teenagers who'd gotten into the plaid crack.  
  
"Iz it...iz it always like zis?" asked the slender blonde woman at Dumbledore's side, a somewhat fearful look on her pretty face. The aging wizard glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and gave her an encouraging smile.  
  
"Oh, no--" he said, and the woman deflated some in relief until he added, "--usually it's chaotic. Don't worry, my dear -- you'll get used to it. Eventually. Maybe." He cleared his throat, and the volume of the sound that came from it next, a battered-looking old man should not have been able to make. "Everyone, if I may have your attention!" The staff remained unfazed and continued about their bickerings.   
  
Professor Snape was seated in a high-backed chair near the fireplace, glowering at the goings on until a look of panic crossed his face as Professor Trelawney took the seat adjacent to his and squinted one of her enormous eyes in a wink. He quickly moved to the only other available chair, which happened to be located next to Sirius Black (who had been cleared over the summer and was now employed at Hogwarts as the new Muggle Studies professor to better keep an eye on his godson), who in turn vacated his seat and gestured slyly to Trelawney to take it. The round of musical chairs ended when Sinistra caught sight of her fellow Slytherin in mortal peril and slid into Black's chair just before the Divination professor could flutter over. Snape gave her a look of sheer gratitude, while Black scowled and slumped down into the Potions master's old seat, across from which Trelawney remained.  
  
Dumbledore tried again-- "Will you people kindly SHUT UP!" --and was a bit more successful this time. Fifteen-odd heads snapped to attention, and the woman beside him rubbed her ears. "Thank you," he continued, now pleasant as ever. "Now, as you are all well aware, tomorrow is the first of September, the beginning of a new school year--"  
  
"And another rung down on the ladder to hell," Professor Vector muttered to Madam Hooch, who sniggered quietly until the headmaster gave them both a Look.  
  
"Ahem. Of course, you will remember Miss Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons representative in the TriWizard Tournament last year. I am pleased to say that she has agreed to join our staff as our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."  
  
The blonde woman next to Dumbledore smiled brilliantly, stepped forward, and gave a small bow, immediately slipping into the facet of one who can't get enough of being in the spotlight. There were a few glazed blinks in response, three outright glares, and an "I give her six months, tops," from a jaded Madam Pomfrey (you could practically see the eyes around her light up Galleon-gold, the first betting pool of the year having been inadvertently set in motion). Fleur tittered nervously and returned to her hiding place very near to the headmaster.  
  
"Now, now, Poppy. All of the others have last at least a year, and I have every confidence that Professor Delacour will be able to do the same."  
  
Pomfrey raised an eyebrow. "Five Galleons on ten months for you, then?"  
  
"...yes." Fleur's eyes widened, and Dumbledore added before she could protest, "Filius, if you would be good enough to read the minutes of last year's final staff meeting?"  
  
Professor Flitwick cleared his throat and stood professionally atop the six cushions on his chair. "Seven o'clock...seven-o-one...seven-o-two..."   
  
Professor McGonagall gave a short snort, and Snape rolled his eyes. Dumbledore nodded and smiled kindly.  
  
"Thank you, Filius, that is all. Any comments?"  
  
Fleur's expression of confusion deepened, and her mouth kept opening and closing as though she desperately wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words.  
  
"I have a comment," Vector spoke up. "I dinnae think it was wise to employ a professor -- and I use the word lightly -- that incessantly tries to transfigure herself into a fish."  
  
At last, the French girl found her voice. "I beg your pardon!"  
  
"All right. You're pardoned -- you can leave now."  
  
"Victoria..." Dumbledore reprimanded, narrowing his eyes at the Arithmancy professor. "I hardly think that's appropriate."  
  
Vector just shrugged. "She asked, did she not?"  
  
"I have a comment, Albus," McGonagall cut in, and shot a disapproving frown at Vector. "A _serious_ one."  
  
Black's head jerked up, and he blinked his eyes blearily, a victim of Trelawney's drowsiness-inducing perfume. "What? M'awake -- I wasn' sleepin'!"  
  
"Not you," McGonagall snapped irately. "I for one am somewhat concerned about the security charms currently in place around the castle. With all that happened last year, and You-Know--" Dumbledore let out a small sigh. "--all right, _Voldemort's_ return...I think it's best we reinforce them more often -- better safe than sorry."  
  
'Finally,' the headmaster thought to himself, 'blessed relevance.' "An excellent point, Minerva -- one that I was just about to bring up myself. I want you all to work together with your respective housemates, come up with every conceivable way around the wards placed on Hogwarts. We have the technology, and I want you all thinking about how to rebuild them, how to make them better, stronger, faster--" He broke off there to chuckle to himself, but as no one else seemed to get the joke, that ended quite quickly. "Meet with members of other houses every so often and discuss ways to blend your ideas. Inform me when you feel you have discovered anything of even the most mild of importance. Until then, I want you all to relax, enjoy what little of the last summer holiday is left, and prepare for the students' return. That is all. Meeting adjourned."  
  
Quiet tossed unabashedly aside once more, the teachers all rose and headed for the door, gladly abandoning their superior and--  
  
"That little French tart," Sinistra muttered as she fell into step between Vector and Hooch. "She's what, nineteen? Dumbledore's really scraping at the bottom of the barrel this year."  
  
"I think the Veela in her got to him," Vector sighed. "Men."  
  
"She doesn't seem _that_ bad," said Black, who'd been following behind them through no personal choice of his own (hey, the loo was in the same direction as they were headed). The three females rounded on him like a pack of vultures who'd just spotted choice carrion, and he was suddenly gripped by the desire to go into dog form and run very, very far away with his tail tucked between his legs. "Well..." he gulped, "...she doesn't. She might turn out to be a decent professor."  
  
"It doesn't matter how decent a professor she is," said Hooch, folding her arms over her chest.  
  
"She's younger and prettier than us," agreed Sinistra, "which makes her evil."  
  
Beside her, Vector nodded. "We hate her."  
  
"But isn't that...sort of...petty?" Black asked. He had a hunch he'd feel oodles more comfortable were the three women Dementors instead of witches -- Dementors could suck out a man's soul, yes, but witches? They could rid his body of far more than that if they were in the mood...  
  
"Yes, very. Your point?"  
  
"You always did have a way with females, Black," came a new voice from behind the new Muggle Studies professor, dripping with sarcasm. "Tell me, did you desperately miss the sting of a slap to the face during your incarceration? Or did the Dementors indulge you that much?"  
  
"Ah, Snape," said Black, immediately slipping into verbal-combat mode, complete with camouflage robes (which he then realised were a bit dramatic and returned them to their previous dark red with a wave of his wand). "I see you, too, have grown to miss the crunch of cartilage from my fist to your nose these past fourteen years. Come to think of it, your enormous beak _does_ seem larger than it used to, if at all possible -- did you splash on a little swelling solution this morning to make the target easier for me to hit?"  
  
"Ooooh," Hooch whistled under her breath and took a handful from the bag of popcorn Vector had conjured the second Snape had stepped into the conversation. "Three Galleons says they kill each other by the end of the year." Sinistra marked the Quidditch referee's bet down on a piece of parchment she'd retrieved from the pocket of her robes.  
  
"Vic? Care to make a wager?"  
  
Vector narrowed her eyes at the two bickering men indecisively. "What are the odds?"  
  
"Ten to one, they kill each other; five to one, Snape poisons Black; one million to one, they call a truce and become best mates--"  
  
"Not steep enough!" both men shouted at her in unison, then scowled at each other and wasted no time in returning to their snipe-fest.  
  
"All right, TEN million to one. Fussy bastards. Anyway -- five to one, Black turns Snape into some sort of embarrassing animal, vegetable, or mineral--"  
  
"Ooh, I like that one. Five Galleons says Snape's a stick of celery at some point in the year."  
  
"Right, then." Black gave Vector a quick thumbs-up, and Sinistra scribbled the information down, shot one last look at the display of rampant testosterone, and nodded to the other women. "I think they've hit their plateau. Shall we?" Two nods in the affirmative, and the three headed once more down the hall, managing to get out-of-range before the curses started flying. Out of the corner of her eye, Sinistra saw Dumbledore come bounding out of the staff room, waving his arms and shouting reprimands, the French girl still at his side -- though quickly knocked on her ass by a rogue Confundus Charm. "Point Severus," Sinistra smiled to herself, and started up one the staircase that would lead her up to the Astronomy Tower.  
  
~*~  
  
"Barrington, Edwina!"  
  
A small girl with dark hair pulled into a high ponytail walked tentatively up to the front of the Great Hall and sat down on the stool. McGonagall gingerly placed the Sorting Hat on her head, and after a moment--  
  
"RAVENCLAW!" the hat screamed, and the Ravenclaw table burst into cheers and applause as Edwina happily ran over. The students, all caught up in the Sorting, didn't noticed the majority of disgruntled faces at the High Table as all the professors who were not former Ravenclaws shelled out a Galleon each to those who were (the annual betting pool of Who's House Will Get the First Student of the Year).  
  
"Blasted hat," Snape muttered, his scowl only slightly appeased when a Dollanganger, Sophie, a small girl with a seemingly innocent doll-like face, was made the first new Slytherin.   
  
"Frankenstein, Erich!"  
  
"RAVENCLAW!"  
  
"Oi," Sinistra hissed at him and elbowed him in the ribs. Snape glowered at her, affronted. He had known the woman most of her life -- she'd been a first year at Hogwarts when he'd been a seventh, and before that, he'd been friends with her elder brother Cassius, Hades bless his soul -- and he was pretty much convinced that she hadn't matured emotionally since she'd turned fifteen. Oh, she could be uppity as hell when she wanted to be, there was no denying that, but as for the rest of her personality...ehn.  
  
"What?" he snapped irately, just as McGonagall called out for Golumbeck, Anastasya.  
  
"Us -- tomorrow evening -- staff room. To talk over the security precautions Dumbledore was on about yesterday. What say?"  
  
"Must we--"  
  
"SLYTHERIN!"  
  
"--discuss this now?"  
  
"If not us, who? If not now, when? If not here, where?"  
  
"Jamison, Guinevere!"  
  
"If not quiet, smack."  
  
"RAVENCLAW!"  
  
Sinistra smirked at him, but said nothing more as the Sorting went on with Keown, Siobhan, the first new Gryffindor, followed by MacPherson, Gwyneth, the first Hufflepuff of the year, all the way down the line until Wembley, Robert was also put into Hufflepuff. Dumbledore gave his opening speech ("Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!"), introduced Fleur, and the feast officially began.  
  
"So," said the headmaster, turning to his new French employee, "Miss Delacour, how have your lesson plans been coming along?"  
  
"Well, I think ze students will find zem interesting. I plan to start ze year off with ze study of glamours."  
  
"Glamours?" asked McGonagall. "In Defence Against the Dark Arts?"  
  
"Oui. You would be surprised how a little...ahem..._enhanced_ physical characteristics can distract an enemy. It iz why, in ze two wars Veelas have fought in, we have won. After zat, I thought I might start ze students on protective and defensive chantwork."  
  
"Very good," said Dumbledore, "very good indeed."  
  
"You _do_ realise you will have to weave a thorough Silencing Charm around your room if you are planning on teaching chantwork," McGonagall cut in, looking as though she was _dying_ to scold the girl for her mere presence at the school.  
  
"Oh, of course. It should be no problem," Fleur shrugged, smiling sweetly (albeit arrogantly). McGonagall scowled and began to viciously dissect a green bean on her plate. Next to her, Hagrid grinned proudly.  
  
"Olympe's schooled her well, Professor Dumbledore," he beamed. "No doubt 'bout that."  
  
"Bollocks," grumbled Vector, who was seated on the headmaster's other side between Flitwick and Black, under her breath. The Charms professor coughed a small giggle into his hand, and Sirius wryly rolled his eyes, wondering if the professors had been this bad we he'd been a student. He found a distraction in Harry, who was smiling at him from the Gryffindor table. He waved and motioned to Vector, silently impersonating a huffy nagging woman, and then wincing and rubbing his shoulder when she caught him at it and gave him a mighty punch in the arm. His godson snorted with laughter and shook his head.  
  
"Pillock," Harry muttered good-naturedly.  
  
"Whassa'?" Ron asked around a mouthful of spaghetti.  
  
"Nothing. Just Sirius. I think he's still learning that insulting a woman while not being at least a good five kilometers away while doing so isn't the smartest thing in the world."  
  
"Ehn," mumbled Ron after taking a swallow of pumpkin juice. "He's just out of practice."  
  
"Is that all you can think about?" Hermione glared at them. "We've been back at school for barely two hours and all you've done is horn in on people's love lives."  
  
Ron shook his head. "_Sex_ lives, Hermione. Girls think about all that love crap, not boys."  
  
"And besides," Harry put in, "those who can, do. Those who can't glower bitterly and make remarks."  
  
"Is that all you're going to be talking about this year, sex?" she asked scathingly. "Honestly, you're only fifteen."  
  
"That's precisely the point, Hermione. We're fifteen -- _everything_ reminds us of sex."  
  
"Even Professor McGonagall?"  
  
"Well, if the lighting's low and she lets her hair down..."  
  
Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes haughtily. "Boys," she scoffed. "You two shouldn't be mocking Sirius, you should be looking to him for an example -- _he's_ not some immature hormonal teenager."  
  
Had Hermione any idea of what was about to happen, perhaps she'd have done as Snape so often ordered her to and held her tongue. As it was, she reveled in her emotional superiority and ate her dinner amidst the other unsuspecting souls in the Great Hall. 


	2. The Shitteth Hath Hitteth the Fan....eth

Disclaimer: All characters are property J.K. Rowling; no © infringement intended or profit made.  
Notes: Vector. Vector?! Well, why not Vector? She never gets any play. Oh, and Lara Croft is the Ancient Runes professor. We just needed a name, and that one sounded somewhat apt.  
  
Oh, and if anyone's got the songs from the Buffy musical, listen to "I've Got a Theory" during Filch's part, only replace Anya's "Bunnies!" bit with "I've got a theory -- it could be Weasleys." "....I've got a theory--" "Weasleys aren't just cute like everybody supposes! They've got them toilet seats and freckley little noses! And what's with all the carrot tops? What do they need so much red hair for anywayyy?! Weasleys! Weasleys! It must be WEASLEYS!!"  
  
  
  
Chapter 1 - The Shitteth Hath Hitteth the Fan....eth  
  
  
  
One week later found the faculty members once again settled into their routines of moulding young minds like mashed potatoes (which, after a summer of fun, frolic and procrastination concerning homework, is what the majority of the students' brains were composed of). Their demeanours tended toward the professional in the presence of the students, Longbottom had melted his first cauldron of the year, Finnigan was well-singed from his first water-to-rum attempt, and for all basic intents and purposes, everything was rather normal - or normal as could be expected in a castle full of witches, wizards, cats, rats, toads, owls, spiders, venomous plants, shrieking books, ghosts, a part-time dog, and a phoenix in a pear tree.  
  
By this time, most of alumni from the various houses had indeed met and discussed the school's safety wards as had been asked of them, and were beginning to meet with each other to go over ways to combine ideas.  
  
"Like a bloody quilting club..." Vector muttered to herself as she made her way down from her third-floor Arithmancy classroom to the first-floor Muggle Studies one. In the Ravenclaw cluster of six faculty members, including Professor Binns, intellectual diplomacy reigned supreme. They'd opted to go to the Gryffindors first (though Vector would have much preferred conversing with the Slytherins) and, since Flitwick had been nominated to go to McGonagall for a Head of House tete-a-tete, and Hooch had been chosen to act as an ambassador to Hagrid (he would no doubt wish to talk over drinks, and no one could hold as much liquor as Hagrid besides Hagrid himself than Xiomara Hooch), she, Victoria Vector, had been voted the Ravenclaw representative to corner Sirius Black, the only man on the staff that was beginning to grate her nerves as much as Gilderoy Lockhart had some two years ago. "You think more like a Gryffindor than any of us," Flitwick had argued when she'd protested the job. "Yeah," Hooch had agreed. "You're loud, rude, and mad. You'll get along swimmingly." Hooch's arm still held the bruise attesting Vector's displeasure with her comment.  
  
"Bollocks to them," she chanted lowly with each step. "Bollocks to them, bollocks to them, bollocks to them...bastards...bastard Black...mutter...arrogant ex-Azkabanian...grumble..."  
  
She reached the classroom door and didn't bother knocking before going inside. It was 10:10 on a Monday, and the mid-morning break was half-over. She had timed this little chat to take the least amount of time possible -- five minutes, tops, before she would have to leave to make it back to her classroom on time before second period.  
  
Black was sitting behind his desk, far less alone than she thought he'd be. The Dream Team was crowded in front of him like a small pack of groupies, laughing about having the snuffles or some such rot before shutting up abruptly and looking at her as though she were Death Eater who'd popped 'round for tea. As Victoria didn't see the humour in having a cold, nor did she find the looks she was getting very flattering, she got right down to business.  
  
"Black, d'you have five minutes?"  
  
He stretched and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. "But of course, Professor." He turned to Granger, Potter and Weasley. "Excuse us, please. And Harry -- remember the, ah, kibble." Potter nodded, and the three Gryffindors left the room. Once they were gone, Vector assumed her Authority Figure stance of hands-on-hips and regarded the lazy-looking man behind the desk with a glare.  
  
"The security wards on the school -- have you come up with any ideas yet on how to improve them?"  
  
"A few."  
  
"Then do share them so that I can be on my way."  
  
He sighed, sitting up straight to prop up his elbows on top of his desk and rest his chin in his hands. The thought that he looked rather roguishly handsome like that worked its way into Vector's mind, and she quickly hissed and scratched at it until it went away and was replaced by the more welcome, more familiar thought of 'Ugh. Black.'  
  
"No," he said.  
  
"No? What d'you mean, 'no'? Professor Dumbledore said that we were to--"  
  
"I know what Dumbledore said. I'm not concerned about what Dumbledore said. I am, on the other hand, concerned about what _you_ said - or didn't say, as the case may be."  
  
"What are you on about?" she snapped, despising confusion, despising Black, despising the valuable seconds of her life ticking away because of the first two.  
  
"You didn't say 'please'."  
  
She scowled, folded her arms over her chest and stepped toward the desk. Alarm bells rang in Black's head, and he stood quickly, hand hovering near his wand should he need to defend himself -- perhaps he shouldn't have egged her on so much over the last week. But she _was_ rather pretty - slender, blonde hair, nice eyes - and she _had_ hit him...   
  
'Oh, what are you, a first-year?' his mind snorted at him. 'There _is_ a difference between being hit and being hit _on_. If there isn't, you've been flirting with Snape more than anyone else for years.' He shuddered involuntarily at the thought and swallowed to repress a gag.  
  
Vector smirked at him and arched a pale eyebrow. "Professor -- and I do use the word as lightly as with Miss Delacour -- it is in your best interests not to scold my manners as you would a student's, especially when you yourself are lacking in such. And for goodness' sake, either grab your wand or don't - indecisiveness is the true mark of an amateur."  
  
'Now _that_ was being hit _on_.'  
  
"Well...maybe it's a sign that I want someone else to grab it," he tried, eyebrows raised suggestively.  
  
"What?"  
  
'Bewildered look. Assessment negative. Abort! Abort! Warning! Danger, Sirius Black, danger!'  
  
"Nothing, never mind."  
  
She frowned at him peculiarly for a few moments before deciding on a scoff as the best course of action. "Whatever. D'you have anything relevant to tell me or not? I wanna get back to me class 'fore me students get there."  
  
'Subject dropping proper speech, granting full accent permission to return. Positive development.' "Actually, yes. I was going over the charms weaved around the West Tower to prevent an attack from above, and I found a small snag that would allow..." He paused, swaying slightly, his eyes glazing over. Vector was about to ask him what was wrong when she felt it, too -- a wave of something indescribable passing around and through her, like dizziness from the outside. The room spun and warped for a few seconds before finally settling down again. The wave left her just as quickly as it had come, leaving her breathless and unsteady. She shut her eyes and shook her head, and didn't think to be troubled by the phenomenon until she heard a nearby gasp and opened her eyes.  
  
A young man -- he couldn't have been older than fifteen -- stood before her, gaping in shock. His black hair spiked in curly, jagged tufts, as though he had tried to cut it himself and had failed miserably. He was thin but athletic-looking, and the robes he wore looked quite a few sizes too big. "Vic...Victoria?" he asked, and then cleared his throat and said her name again. He looked shocked that the voice coming from his mouth was his own.  
  
"Do I know you?" Vector asked him, and saw what he meant -- her voice, too, was higher pitched than normal. She looked down and found that her own robes were oversized -- had she shrunk? "What's happened? Why am I so short? Where'd me tits go? And what the bloody fuck is wrong with my voice?!"  
  
"It _is_ you," the young man said, looking even more confused, if it were possible.  
  
"Of course it's me, you hole! Who're you?" Her eyes searched his -- they were deep-set and dark, and looked as though their age didn't fit in his body. It hit her then, like a ton of bricks. Her hand flew to her mouth in disbelief. "Black?" she ventured, and the young man nodded dumbly. "What -- y'look like a kid!"  
  
"You're not exactly showing your age, either."  
  
"Dumbledore -- we have to find Dumbledore. He'll know what's happened. He's gotta. He's never not known before."  
  
  
  
"I have no idea what's going on," Dumbledore -- or the teenager claiming to be him -- paced around the room, tripping over his robes. The entire faculty had gathered in his office in a panic, every one of them reduced by at least half their age. The lanky, gloomy-looking boy in the corner -- Snape -- scowled angrily at the whole predicament.  
  
"Isn't it obvious?" he snapped, the usual respect he harboured for Dumbledore slowly melting away with the absence of the old wizard's beard and the rush of newly-discovered teenaged petulance. "We're children again! Someone's cursed us!"  
  
The small blonde draped over one of the large chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk - Hooch - rolled her yellow eyes. "Not to sound anymore juvenile than I look, but...DUH."  
  
"Voldemort," a soft voice came from the back of the room. A skinny girl with wavy black hair that refused to behave no matter how much she patted it down pouted at the young Dumbledore. "He must have done something -- though _how_..." Sinistra trailed off, glancing surreptitiously at Snape, who only gave her a small shrug.  
  
"Weasleys," a gawky Filch hissed, somehow managing to retain the ever-present bitterness in his young, thin face. "Those blasted twins have pulled every prank in the book -- this is just the icing on the cake of what schemes those little weasels got cooked up, I'll bet ten Galleons on it!" Unsurprisingly, this got marked down -- even in times of crisis, some things simply can't go overlooked.  
  
"Everyone, calm down," a mini-McGonagall began -- her usual severe bun had switched into twin braided pigtails, about which she looked none too happy. "We'll find a way to fix this."  
  
"You're damn right, we will," Snape muttered, slouching against the wall. Black smirked at him.  
  
"Poor Severus. His first childhood didn't agree with him -- I can't wait to see how the second one progresses."  
  
"Try anything and you're dead, Black."  
  
"Not if I kill you first."  
  
"Now, now, boys, you're both pretty."  
  
"Shut it, Xiomara!"  
  
"CHILDREN!" a surprisingly loud voice erupted from a very, very tiny Professor Flitwick. "Like it or not, for now we are stuck like this, and the only way to get out of it is if we _work together_ to find a logical solution." Several looks of bewilderment blinked back at him, and he shrank back a little, which made him appear almost the size of a cat. "Why do you all seem so surprised? I _am_ a Ravenclaw, you know." A short, chubby girl with curly brown hair -- Professor Sprout -- patted him supportively on the shoulder.  
  
"Professor Flitwick is right," Dumbledore spoke up, rubbing the back of his neck and marvelling at the lack of beard-weight pulling down on his head. He turned to each of them as he handed out orders. "Minerva, you, Irma and Filius research everything on adult-to-child Transfiguration you can, see if we can't find out how to reverse whatever curse caused this. Poppy, you and Salvia see if you can come up with a medicinal antidote. It's a long shot, but desperate times, etc.   
  
"Severus, Selene, pore through every Potions and Curses book you can get your hands on, see if there isn't some concoction we can brew up. Xiomara, you, Fleur and I will talk to Professor Binns, find out if he's ever seen anything like this before, or if he's come across a reference to it in one of his history texts.   
  
"Sibyll...see.   
  
"Sirius, Victoria -- take down everyone's size and go to Hogsmeade. Buy us some robes that fit. Hagrid, you and Lara go as well. I want you to go to the Three Broomsticks, inform Rosmerta what's happened, and tell her to send as much liquor as she can spare."  
  
"Albus!" McGonagall gawked at him, and Dumbledore shrugged helplessly, somehow looking older than he normally did.  
  
"I'm sorry, but I'm only fifteen! I'm not built to handle this kind of pressure yet!"  
  
"I need a cigarette," Vector muttered, stalking out of the room.  
  
"Make that a pack," Sinistra sighed, following.  
  
"Inform the students that classes are cancelled today, and that they are all to report to the Great Hall," Albus called as they filed out of the office. "I'll address them on this...incident."  
  
  
  
The school was askew - the students had shown up for their classes, but their teachers hadn't.   
  
"This is just...beyond weird," Ron mumbled. "Snape's never late, let alone absent. D'you reckon he's dead?"  
  
Hermione scoffed at the thought, though she did look the tiniest bit hopeful. "If he were dead, someone would've told us."  
  
"Do you think this is some sort of test?" asked Dean Thomas, which caused a flash of utter fear to pass over Neville Longbottom's face.  
  
"I wouldn't put it past him," Parvati Patil muttered, and Lavender Brown nodded in agreement with her best friend.  
  
"Tell no one what the assignment is, and then fail everyone."  
  
They all exchanged glum glances and sighed in unison, "Except the Slytherins."  
  
At that moment, a glowering young man in too-large robes that none of the students had ever seen before stormed into the room and stood at the front of the class. His black hair hung limply around his thin face, making him appear vampiric, like a grumpy-looking bat. "All of you, to the Great Hall. Now," he barked.  
  
Nobody moved. Draco Malfoy was the first one to speak.   
  
"Who are you and why do you think you can tell us what to do?"  
  
"My patience is thin, Mr. Malfoy. I advise you not to question me and to get - to - the - Great - Hall - NOW." He bore down upon the blond boy with a familiar piercing glare that caused Draco's eyes to widen considerably.  
  
"...Professor Snape?" Malfoy ventured quietly. The boy standing at the front said nothing. "What…what's happened to you?"  
  
"Dumbledore will explain, best as he can manage. Now go."  
  
Slowly, the class rose, gathered up their things, and left, not taking their eyes off the de-aged Snape the entire time.  
  
  
  
Confusion reigned in the Great Hall. All of the students had taken their seats at their respective tables, and were looking around with looks of astonishment, whispering amongst themselves so that the entire room echoed with what sounded like a large air leak. The teachers were all sitting in their usual places, and Harry counted down the line, his mouth dropping as he recognized each of them in turn.  
  
"Look at them all," Ron hissed, his brow furrowed. "Hooch, Vector, Sprout, Snape, Sinistra, Hagrid, McGonagall, Dumbledore, Flitwick, Sirius, Pomfrey, Trelawney, Croft, Delacour, Pince..."  
  
"It's amazing," Hermione whispered. "They're all...all..."  
  
"Our age," Harry finished for her.  
  
The fifteen-year-old Dumbledore raised his arms, calling for silence, which came a good bit slower than it usually did. Harry took in Dumbledore's appearance. His purple robes looked more like a bunch of curtains hanging off his narrow shoulders. No beard, and his silvery hair was now much shorter and auburn in colour.  
  
"I know you're all wondering what's happened to us," the headmaster began, "and I'm sorry to say that we haven't a clue. We're not yet sure who cast this spell or how to undo it. But I must make it perfectly clear to all of you that our appearances change nothing. We are still in charge of this school, and if we can't remedy this by tonight, then tomorrow will happen just like any other day. You will go to your classes, we will teach, and you will show the same amount of respect for your professors that you always have. Any insubordination that happens due to our appearances will be met with swift punishment, and while I don't expect any of you to take advantage, I must make it clear none the less. Now, are they any questions, other than the obvious?"  
  
Morag MacDougal, a fifth-year Ravenclaw, raised her hand.  
  
"Yes?" Dumbledore asked.  
  
"The Ministry of Magic -- do they know what's happened?"  
  
"I am going to inform them immediately after this assembly. Anything else?" No one raised their hand. "I want you all to spend the day doing what you'd normally do on a free day, but I ask that you not go wandering the grounds without an adult -- er, a teacher -- present. This means no Quidditch practice--" A chorus of groans erupted from the Hufflepuff table, who had signed up to have the field that day. "--for today only. I ask that you all keep an eye open for danger, and that you alert one of us should you see anything suspicious on campus. Be careful, and enjoy your day. You are all free to go."  
  
The students exited the Great Hall, some looking sick with worry, others looking ecstatic at the prospect of a weekday without classes. Harry, Ron and Hermione were the last and most reluctant to stand.  
  
"You two go ahead," Harry told them. "I want to talk to Sirius."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"We'll see you in the common room."  
  
They left, and Harry approached the long table at the front of the room. Sirius leapt over it easily and landed with the sort of grace only the young possess in front of him. Harry noticed he was still shorter than his godfather by about three inches. "Is everything going to be okay?" he asked, and Sirius smiled warmly at him.  
  
"Of course it is. Just because we're shorter doesn't mean we're any less powerful." He frowned. "I think."  
  
"How do you feel?"  
  
"Well, 'like a kid again' seems to be the obvious answer. It takes some getting used to, but I'm not complaining. I haven't felt this physically good in a long time, which makes me realise -- in actuality, I'm too old for this crap." He winked, and Harry chuckled.  
  
"It's weird, seeing all the teachers like this..."  
  
"Tell me about it. I never thought I'd see the day when the first thing that popped into my head at seeing McGonagall was 'ooh, foxy lady'."  
  
Harry snorted, and Sirius grinned mischievously.  
  
"But on the plus side -- old Severus doesn't seem to be enjoying himself. Not that he was much fun when he actually _was_ fifteen."  
  
Harry nodded, casting a glance Snape's way. The Potions Master still looked furious, despite Sinistra's attempts to make him laugh. Eventually, she gave up and slouched down in her seat looking just as disgruntled.  
  
"How long do you think this'll last?"  
  
"Can't say. But I wouldn't worry about it if I were you. Hey, I'm going to Hogsmeade to get us all some robes that, y'know, fit - how's about I pick you up a few dungbombs at Zonko's? It's been ages since I've set off a dungbomb. We could do it together -- it'll be a bonding experience. Got a lot of time to make up for."  
  
"Yeah, that'd be neat."  
  
Vector sauntered over, grabbed Sirius by arm and started dragging him away impatiently. "Come on, let's hit the shops."  
  
"See you later, Harry," Sirius called over his shoulder. "Keep your chin up, everything's gonna be fine."  
  
~*~  
  
Sinistra growled in frustration at the book she was thumbing through and slammed it shut. "This isn't working. We must have looked through a thousand books in the -- what time is it?"  
  
Snape tore himself away from his own book to check his watch. "Quarter after two."  
  
"It's been sixteen hours? _Sixteen bloody hours_?! This is completely hopeless!"  
  
He glanced up at her, but said nothing. She sighed, exasperated with their fruitless search. They'd gone through the classrooms, their offices, the restricted section of the library, and were now working on Snape's private collection in his room, sitting on the uncomfortable stone floor in front of the massive bookcase with more than two dozen volumes of various Potions works scattered around them. Sinistra was sick of it. "I give up. My fingers are numb from page-turning, my eyes are numb from reading so damn much -- whatever we're looking for is not going to turn up here."  
  
He still said nothing. With a small snarl, she rose and muttered something about stretching her legs.  
  
Snape didn't seem to notice until he heard the distinct sound of bouncing bedsprings. Frowning, he looked up from what he was reading to find Sinistra jumping on his bed. "What are you doing?"  
  
"What does it look like?" she bit back, turning away from him.  
  
"Stop that at once."  
  
"No."  
  
Closing the book, Snape rose and walked over to the bed, putting on his most serious scowl. "I said, stop it."  
  
"And I said no."  
  
"Look," he said, "it's my bed, in my room, and I don't want you doing that on or in either."  
  
At last, she stopped jumping and flopped down on her stomach, gazing up at him crossly. "Why not?"  
  
"Because it's annoying. And immature."  
  
"Both of which we are now, you know."  
  
"In body alone," he snapped. She pulled herself up to sit on her knees so that she could look him directly in the eye.  
  
"What's the matter? You're being uptight even for you."  
  
He glared at her, and then turned and walked back toward the bookcase. She was on her feet immediately, chasing after him.  
  
"Oh no -- you are _not_ going to storm off and brood." Her voice softened, "Come on, Severus. It's scary for all of us. Don't be like this now. Please."  
  
He stopped, but refused to meet her eyes. "I'm not 'being like' anything. I just...I can't stand this. I hated being this age the first time around; I can't see how another go at it is going to make it any better. It's a useless age filled with useless people."  
  
"Well..." she thought for a moment, seizing his hands in hers. "Maybe you just didn't have enough fun when you were fifteen. That doesn't mean you're not allowed to now." She gave him a tug and he reluctantly followed her back over to the bed. Letting go of one of his hands, she held up the bottom of her robes and climbed onto the springy mattress, and then pulled him up after her. "There. See? This isn't so bad, is it?"  
  
"Don't talk to me like I'm a child."  
  
"You are a child."  
  
"Selene..."  
  
"All right, all right." She smiled slyly at him and jumped a bit. "But do give it a try." He rolled his eyes, but she gave him her best pout and batted her lashes dramatically. "For me?"  
  
Scowling, he relented a small bounce.  
  
"Excellent. Now do that many times in succession."  
  
"Don't push it, Sinistra."  
  
She grinned, giving another little jump. "Wouldn't dream of it."  
  
  
  
Draco Malfoy frowned as the stone dungeon wall that led into the Slytherin House common room slid open -- he knew he was the only one awake, and the light footfalls didn't sound like Snape, teenager or not. He turned away from the fire he was sitting in front of and found blonde girl it took him a few seconds to place slipping through the common room. "Madam Hooch?" he asked, and she turned startled, hawk-like eyes on him.  
  
"Oh, Malfoy," she muttered, looking relieved. "What you still doing up?"  
  
Draco shrugged, gesturing to the single-player chess game in front of him. "Couldn't sleep."  
  
"Ah. I don't suppose you'd know where the History of Slytherin House book is hidden?"  
  
The boy nodded and got up out of his seat to show her the secret place where the book was kept this year.  
  
"Spectacular, thank you," she smiled, lifting the heavy, dusty volume in her arms with only some difficulty.  
  
"Were you a Slytherin?" Malfoy asked, to which Hooch looked surprised.   
  
"Oh, good gracious, no. Ravenclaw. But all the teachers have the passwords to get into the four common rooms -- safety reasons and whatnot."  
  
The boy frowned, but shrugged indifferently. Hooch started back toward the trap door, then paused and turned to him again. "Malfoy, how awake would you say you are? D'you think you could run down to Professor Snape's room and tell him and Professor Sinistra to report to Professor Binns' room?"  
  
"Sure, why not," he shrugged. Better to be bored and get credit for it than to just be bored.  
  
"Thanks much."  
  
With a low groan, the hidden door opened and Hooch disappeared, followed by Malfoy. They parted ways in the hall, and Draco padded toward Snape's room barefoot, pulling his green dressing gown tighter around him and wishing he'd brought his slippers. He was right outside the room when he heard a peculiar sound and stopped, pressed his ear to the door. The sound was unmistakable then, and he stepped back quite a few feet, his mouth hanging open in shock.  
  
Bedsprings. Inside the room, bedsprings were being bounced up and down in a fashion he had no desire to imagine. "Ye gods, you have got to be kidding me," he muttered, his eyes riveted to the door, unsure of what to do. "Not even twenty-four hours of being hormonal teenagers and they're already..." He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. "_I'm_ not even that bad. ...Wait a tic - _I'm_ not even that _good_. Oh, god! _Snape's_ getting more than I am!" A look of utter disgust, both toward himself and other people, came over his face at the revelation. "No! This can't be happening -- this isn't right! It's just...just...augh!"  
  
He stopped talking to himself, and upon closer inspection, he could hear voices coming from the other side of the door.  
  
"Come on, put some effort into it! There you go."  
  
"Don't patronise me. This was your idea in the first place. My technique is fine."  
  
"Yeah, for a beginner. But I've had lots more practice."  
  
Draco's eyes nearly doubled in size, and a feeling of pure horror came over him. This was just too much -- his feet were cold, his ego bruised -- he had to put a stop to this. Raising a determined fist, he pounded on the door.  
  
The bedsprings stopped immediately, and he heard two loud thumps, like two people hitting the floor one right after the other. The door opened slightly, and Professor Sinistra poked her head through. Her face was flushed, and her hair was unkempt.  
  
"Malfoy, hello," she greeted him with a small smile, and Draco couldn't notice her slightly laboured breathing without making a face. "What's the matter?" she asked him, and he knew there was no way he could deny it. He threw her an accusing glare as Snape's head appeared above hers.  
  
"I heard it all!" he nearly yelled. "God, how could you? You're only fifteen! And the fact that you're actually older just makes it creepier!"  
  
Sinistra tilted her head, frowning. "What are you on about?" She opened the door the rest of the way, and Draco jumped back as if struck, covering his eyes with his hands.  
  
"No! Are you people insane?! Shut the bloody door!"   
  
He heard it click closed and slowly removed his hands from his eyes before jumping again, startled to find them on his side of it - and fully clothed.  
  
"For goodness' sake, Malfoy, what is the matter with you?" Snape snapped, and Draco suddenly felt the kind of foolish that makes one blush crimson whether they want to or not.  
  
"I hea--I mean, I came down here--" But suddenly he was at a loss for words. He remembered the words of his father -- state your business, and leave the rest of it up to them. Good, sound, sane advice. "Hoochwantstoseeyoushe'sinBinns'room," he muttered quickly, then turned and practically sprinted down the hall back toward the Slytherin dorms.  
  
When he was out of sight, Sinistra looked questioningly at Snape. A tiny smirk played at his mouth, but he only shrugged.  
  
  
  
When they got to the History of Magic room, they found Hooch, Delacour and Binns sitting on or hovering near random desks, each with books that could have felled a grown Hippogriff if thrown in front of them, and each -- save for the last -- with lavender half-circles beneath their eyes.  
  
"Have you found anything?" Xiomara asked. Fleur looked up hopefully.  
  
"No," said Snape tersely. "Where's the headmaster?"  
  
"Up in his office, with Fudge. He's got the Ministry working on it, but gods know they couldn't find a lump in a sea of shit if you paid 'em to."  
  
The Potions master scowled in annoyance. "Then why did you summon us, if you don't have anything helpful to contribute?"  
  
"Well," the spectral history professor spoke up, "that's not entirely true. There's a very vague reference to something akin to this happening in the early seventh century, five hundred years before Hogwarts was constructed."  
  
"I can do the math," Snape snapped, and Binns responded with a blustery cough of indignation.  
  
"I wasn't implying that you couldn't, _Professor_."  
  
"Don't tease the living, Binns," Hooch interrupted before Snape could retort, "or we'll exorcise your intangible old ass."  
  
"Um, excuse me?" asked Sinistra. "If no one minds, could we please return to the _point_?"  
  
Twin glares turned in her direction, and she met them with a vicious scowl of her own which she usually reserved for the Weasley twins.  
  
"I think it would be best," Binns said slowly, "if we were to wait until Professor Dumbledore is present." He probably would have been argued with if Vector and Black hadn't chosen that moment to enter the classroom, bearing shopping bags full of robes in various colours and textures. They unloaded their burdens on a book-free desk and sighed, rubbing arms and shoulders wearily.  
  
"Bugger all," Victoria grumbled to herself. "And to think I once _enjoyed_ shopping..."  
  
"What took you so long?" Hooch asked, rummaging through the bags until Vector reached in and handed her two sets of robes, one in navy blue, one in tan, and a pair of brown suede boots.  
  
"They didn't have all our measurements in stock; we had to wait for things to be altered. And we might've stopped for a bite to eat..."  
  
Black snorted. "Or three."  
  
"Bug off. I was hungry."  
  
Black hurled two sets of black robes at Snape's head, and was met with a fierce glare.  
  
"Pillock," Snape muttered.  
  
"Wanker."  
  
"Mongrel."  
  
"Tight-ass."  
  
"How kind of you to notice."  
  
Sirius looked stricken. "Gross, Snape."  
  
"Oh, _do_ fuck off, Black."  
  
"After you. I insist."  
  
They might have continued on until they reached the age of thirty-six the second time around had Vector not interrupted.  
  
"We can't Apparate," she said suddenly. Three alarmed heads swivelled in her direction, six alarmed eyes widening. "Sirius and I tried when we were in Hogsmeade. No luck. We're not at full power."  
  
Snape was the first to recover from the mild shock. "Oh, isn't this utterly _fabulous_. I can hardly wait to see what happens next. What do you think it will be, hm? McGonagall turning into a kitten? We're required to take the O.W.L.s again? Sprout and Longbottom will begin dating? At this point, nothing would surprise me."  
  
"Severus..." Sinistra started. He turned to her, glowering.  
  
"What? What do you want me to do, Selene? Put on a happy face and go jump on a bed until the situation's righted?"  
  
Her hand met his face with a loud crack, sending him staggering -- apparently, there was _one_ thing that could still surprise him.  
  
"Bastard," she spat, and stalked out of the room. Vector sighed irately at him and followed.  
  
"Come on, 'Mara," she called over her shoulder. "Time for a ciggie break." Hooch needed no more encouragement.  
  
"Smooth, Snape," Black sneered after the three girls had left. "Real smooth. What was that you were saying about _me_ being bitchslapped into next week on a regular basis?"  
  
"Fuck. Off."  
  
  
  
"Oi, Sulky," Vector shouted down the hallway. Sinistra paused in her dramatic exit and spun around to glare at the Arithmancy professor. "Don't gimme that look. I have...treasure." She waved a pack of Bubble & Squeak cigarettes, and had never seen her best friend run as fast as she did at that moment.  
  
"Oh, Vic, I could kiss you," Sinistra sighed, cradling the pack as though it were a sacred object.  
  
"Please don't."  
  
"Hurry up and open 'em already," Hooch ordered. "Who cares if we're inside -- what's anyone gonna do, give us detention?"  
  
"Good point."  
  
The pack was quickly unwrapped and the cigarettes distributed. Vector lit all three with the tip of her wand and took a long drag -- then collapsed in a fit of choking, coughing and spluttering against the wall. Sinistra gasped, but managed not to fall into such a graceless heap as Victoria.  
  
"Bloody--*cough*--hell," Vector hissed, getting her breath back. "That _hurt_."  
  
"What's up with you, Xiomara? Why are you so damned unaffected?"  
  
Hooch merely shrugged. "I started when I was thirteen. My lungs were already black by this age."  
  
"Lucky bint."  
  
"You know, this'd be a grand opportunity to quit..."  
  
Hooch arched an eyebrow and took another drag, closed her eyes as if in bliss. Vector's resolve dissipated rapidly.  
  
"Screw it. Got used to once, we'll get used to it again soon enough."  
  
Future puffs were far less eventful, and they were nearly finished when McGonagall's voice, just as authoritative as it had always been, echoed from down the corridor a ways.  
  
"You three had better not be doing what I _think_ you're doing!"  
  
"Shit! It's the warden!" Vector whispered, resulting in fits of giggles from her cohorts. "Quick -- destroy the evidence!"  
  
They blew whatever smoke was lingering in their lungs out behind each other's backs and tossed the remnants of the contraband on the floor to be stubbed out by boots and made to disappear with a wave of Sinistra's wand just as McGonagall, Dumbledore, and Cornelius Fudge approached, the first looking stern, the second tired, and the third about to wet himself from badly-concealed nervousness.  
  
"Cornelius," Dumbledore addressed the Minister of Magic, "meet Victoria Vector, Selene Sinistra, and Xiomara Hooch, professors of Arithmancy, Astronomy, and Flying respectively," he introduced them. Fudge shook each girl's hand in turn.  
  
"Binns reckons he's found something," Sinistra told the headmaster, whose tense expression didn't falter. Fudge, on the other hand, looked downright mitigated.  
  
"Oh, isn't that a relief?" he sighed, taking off his bowler cap to run a hand through his sparse white hair.  
  
"I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you, sir. From what he said, it's only a vague reference."  
  
"Well, something is better than nothing," said Dumbledore, and motioned to the History of Magic classroom. "Shall we, then?"  
  
He was met with nods, and the six filed through the door.  
  
~*~  
  
Well, that's chapter one. To our splendiferous reviewers, much thanks to Alchemine, uzun, lizza, Squiglet8, Mrs. Grim, Zoloft (nit-picking is all well and good -- the professors _were_ more immature than normal, but hey, they can't be professional twenty-four seven, especially on the holidays. And yeah, we've read Pratchett. We Enjoy Pratchett ;), Tess, Atheis, chibi neko, Nai and Elspeth (and yeah, no student/teacher relationship thingies here (for once from us ;), except for one future, very minor and never done before one strictly for a humourous scene we've got planned. Not a severely romancy fic).  
  
Thanks again, you lot. Hope you enjoyed this part as much as the last. 


	3. We Band of Buggered

Disclaimer: All characters are property J.K. Rowling; no © infringement intended or profit made.  
Notes: Ve haff no notes. Except one -- our knowledge of Islamic holy wars is very scarce -- the below is just our grope for an excuse, so if it doesn't fit...ehn. It's hardly that relevant.  
  
Chapter Two - We Band of Buggered  
  
  
"Fifteen hundred years ago, there was a similar incident affecting a group of witches and wizards who found themselves caught in the midst of a Muggle holy war in Israel. Their mysterious youth and powers had one side praising them as sacred children -- prophets -- and the other intent on destroying them for what was obviously the work of the Judaists, whom they believed indulged in the most decadent of sins and were inherently evil.  
  
"There is little mention of their lives before the de-aging occurred -- only that most of them had been around a hundred years of age when it happened, and that afterward, though what they accomplished with their powers would today be seen as 'child's play', they did go on to do a great many things for their side of the fight -- astounding acts of heroism, the prevention of mass slaughters, etc. They saw what had happened to them as a gift -- their youth enabling them to have the health and energy needed for their tasks that their previous ages lacked -- and it appears they did age at the normal pace for wizards afterward."   
  
Professor Binns shut the book -- 'When Magic and Muggles Mix: A Historical Overview' -- and looked up at his captive audience, inwardly wishing that his students would show an eighth of the attention to what he said in class as the faculty members did.  
  
Dumbledore leaned against the spectre's desk and took off his pointed hat to run a hand through his hair thoughtfully. He sighed, and next to him, Fudge gave a short, nervous giggle.  
  
"Well then, that was certainly...encouraging," he said, wiping his brow with a handkerchief produced from one of the pockets of his dark blue robes.  
  
"In what way?" Snape muttered. "Did everything he said go in one of your ears and out the other? They never recovered! We cannot afford to simply wait this out as they did."  
  
Fudge shot him an affronted glare. "Now, see here--"  
  
"No, _sir_ -- _you_ see here. You can deny Voldemort's return all you like, but the rest of us do not have the luxury to be so blind -- _war_ is coming, and our bodies are not functioning at their usual magical levels. Lord Voldemort has an obsessive vendetta with Harry Potter; Harry Potter attends this school, which is now vulnerable to attack without the protection of the formidable combined powers of its professors. You can no longer hide behind the headmaster's robes like a snivelling child--"  
  
"Severus, that's enough!" Dumbledore snapped, the usual white heat of power that would radiate from him after such an outburst dulled to a dim candle's worth. Snape glared fiercely, but said nothing more. "We need to think about this rationally and, pardon the irony, like _adults_." He turned to the Minister. "Cornelius, Severus was right about one thing -- war _is_ coming, and Hogwarts is no doubt a prime target of Voldemort's."  
  
"But Albus, surely..." Fudge started to protest, but thought better of it at the six scowls that were suddenly focused on him. "I...can arrange for Aurors to be stationed here, for protection."  
  
"Thank you," said Dumbledore sincerely, a small, grateful smile touching his mouth.  
  
"Wait," McGonagall spoke up, swatting one of her braids over her shoulder in annoyance. "Professor Binns said that the last time this happened, war was going on. Do you think there's some sort of connection...?"  
  
"Possibly..." Dumbledore frowned. "Though there have been many other wars since then -- what would be so special about these specific two?"  
  
"I'll get the Ministry on it at once!" exclaimed Fudge, attempting to regain some stature of the authority he supposedly held. Behind him, Hooch, Vector and Sinistra exchanged glances and rolled their eyes.  
  
Snape had begun to pore through the book Binns had been reading from, and snorted at the passage he was skimming. "Gift, indeed," he grumbled under his breath. "Should have come with a receipt so we could take it back..."  
  
"Oh!" Fleur, who had remained silent until now, suddenly piped up. "Zey viewed it as a gift, non?"  
  
Vector arched a sceptical eyebrow. "A bit slow on the uptake, aren't you?"  
  
Fleur sniffed haughtily and ignored the comment. "What I mean iz, what if it _iz_ a gift? Not just a random magical phenomenon -- what if it was given to us specifically for a purpose, not to weaken us, but to help us?"  
  
"Oh, fat lot of that it's doing," Hooch muttered.  
  
"Now, now, Xiomara -- Miss Delacour may be on to something." Dumbledore smiled kindly at his youngest -- though not quite as much recently -- employee, who beamed proudly.  
  
"Yes," Sinistra murmured, frowning contemplatively.  
  
"Traitor," Vector hissed. Selene elbowed her in the ribs.  
  
"If it _is_ a gift, then it had to have been given to us by something -- or some_one_. If we could find them, then we might be able to convince them to reverse what's happened."  
  
"But how would we locate them?" Black asked.  
  
Hooch scratched the back of her neck and thought for a moment. "Well...they've gotta be powerful, and possibly quite old...my guess is at or near a place of ancient magic -- Stonehenge, Staigue Fort, Giants Causeway, Giza..."  
  
Fudge cleared his throat. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, now..."  
  
"Pardon our temerity, Minister Fudge," said McGonagall, forcing a thin smile. "This...situation...has been cause for much anxiety. What do _you_ propose we do?"  
  
The Minister of Magic looked questioningly to Dumbledore, who merely motioned for him to speak.  
  
"Yes, Cornelius. I, too, am curious as to how you plan on handling this."  
  
"Well, I..." Fudge floundered, searching each surrounding face for help and finding none. "That is to say, the Ministry will...will take care of things. Yes. I have every confidence of that."  
  
"The cheese stands alone," Black muttered under his breath, earning a small snort of laughter from Vector.  
  
Sensing that he was fighting a losing battle, Fudge cleared his throat yet again and did his best to project an aura of confidence. "In fact, I should have them begin working on a solution immediately. I will, of course, inform you if anything of importance surfaces. Until then, I recommend you all live your lives as normally as possible."  
  
"I do believe that's easier said than done," Dumbledore sighed resignedly. "Come, Cornelius. I'll walk you out."  
  
They left, and the remaining teenagers glanced at each other as if to ask, "Now what?"  
  
"So..." said Black, "Hagrid and Croft back yet?"  
  
"Dunno," said Hooch. "Haven't seen 'em."  
  
"Think we should check around for them? Just to...make sure they're all right?"  
  
"I think we should," said Vector. "I think we should comb the castle first. Because we're worried and whatnot."  
  
Sinistra nodded. "Worried. About them."  
  
"Mm-hm."  
  
Snape snorted in disgust and started for the door. "Leave discretion to those who are actually possessed of the ability to use it correctly. Come on, hurry up, before the ale turns to vinegar or Hagrid finishes it off."  
  
The thought of the half-giant imbibing the majority of their precious alcohol caused a collective shiver of fright to pass through the group, and they wasted no time before following the Potions master out of the room.  
  
~*~  
  
"How could you do something like this? Have you no shame? No conscience? I didn't think _you_ of all people could be so cruel!"  
  
"I'm sorry! I just...I didn't think--"  
  
"No, you didn't think! And who's suffering the consequences? We are, that's who!"  
  
"Selene, quit harping at Poppy and have a bloody drink already," Hooch called from the table that had been vacated of bandages in favour of booze.  
  
They'd found Hagrid, Croft and a small portion of the Three Broomsticks' liquor supply, along with a half-drunken Pomfrey and Sprout in the hospital wing. The back of the table contained the milder concoctions -- butterbeer, mead and the like -- and a good-sized dent had been made in the harder things at the front -- scotch, whiskey, vodka, brandy, tequila -- Madam Rosmerta, it was unanimously agreed upon, had been more than generous.  
  
Shooting one last annoyed scowl at Pomfrey, Sinistra made her way over to Hooch, who held a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey in one hand a bottle of Viridian's Vicious Vodka in the other, the latter of which she promptly passed over to the Astronomy professor. Sinistra opened it and took a swig, then grimaced and shuddered until a look of euphoria settled on her face.  
  
"Ah, that's the stuff."  
  
On one of the beds, Sprout and Croft were doing tequila shots, and on the floor near them, Black had joined in a game of tiddlywinks played with Sickles and glasses of scotch with, surprisingly enough, Filch and Pince. McGonagall lingered watching on the sidelines with a small glass of sherry, trying to look disapproving but eventually giving it up and joining in.  
  
She sank her first Sickle with ease, and tossed back the scotch as though it were water. Sirius looked impressed.  
  
"Damn, McG. Didn't know you had it in you."  
  
"I'm a Scot, Mr. Black. To not 'have it in me' would be an insult to my family."  
  
In a corner, Snape slouched down on the floor, leaning against a wall and grumpily nursing a bottle of brandy. Abandoning Hooch and Vector, Sinistra went over and sat down next to him, gesturing to him with the vodka bottle.  
  
"Trade?" she offered, and he relented, taking a gulp of the clear liquor and then grimacing.  
  
"How can you prefer _this_ to brandy? It tastes like wound-cleaning potion smells."  
  
She shrugged. "I like it."  
  
"Women. I daresay I'll never understand your mutated palettes."  
  
"Well, good. There should be at least _one_ concept you can't wrap that bloated brain of yours around."  
  
He snorted, and for a few moments, there was silence (along with the odd swishy gulp here and there). "Selene."  
  
"You haven't forgotten my name yet? Drink more, Sev."  
  
He glared.  
  
"--erus," she finished with a sly smirk. "What is it?"  
  
"I...I feel I should apologise for my earlier conduct. It was...inconsiderate of me to..."  
  
"Be a snappish ass?"  
  
"If you want to boil it down to its least eloquent form, yes."  
  
"Accepted. Thank you."  
  
He took another drink and grimaced again before snatching back his brandy and dropping the vodka in her lap. She laughed at his expression just as Dumbledore strode into the hospital wing -- and straight over to the liquor table.  
  
"Hangovers will not exempt you from teaching your classes tomorrow," he informed them all before mixing a combination of alcohol that couldn't have possibly been meant for human consumption, conjuring a little pink umbrella, and downing it in one mighty gulp. Sinistra shuddered for him.  
  
"That man never ceases to amaze me."  
  
~*~  
  
Two hours later, dawn was beginning to peek over the horizon, streaming thin, murky rays of grey light into the candlelit room. Bodies littered the floor and beds, as standing became something of a problem about an hour previous. Sprout and Croft had both passed out where they'd been sitting, feet in each other's faces. Fleur was dozing regally in the bed next to theirs. Hagrid was snoring peacefully on the floor near them, using one massive arm and an empty bottle of mead for a pillow. Trelawney, who had 'seen staggering clowns' in her crystal ball and come down to join them was snoozing against his back.  
  
Those still conscious were clustered at the other end of the room. Dumbledore was leaning sedately against the raised head of a bed, McGonagall next to him with her head at the foot, on her stomach with her legs swinging in the air and fading fast. Vector and Hooch sat on the floor with their backs to each other, propping themselves up. Black, Pince and Filch were still flicking Sickles into glasses now filled with water in an attempt to avoid ghastly hangovers, and Sinistra had stretched out on the floor with her head resting on a drowsy Snape's crossed shins.  
  
"Five Galleons says the Minishtry's not gonna find a cure for this for twenty years, when nobody gives a flying fuck anymore," Hooch slurred. McGonagall, who'd gotten passed the betting chart sometime around the Which Student's Death Will Sibyll Predict THIS Year pool, took the pad out of her pocket and scribbled down the wager.  
  
"Tell me about it," Black grumbled. "Hell, _we_ could do a better job of tracking down whoever did this..."  
  
Snape arched a lazy eyebrow. "For once, Black, I have to agree with you."  
  
"As do I," sighed Dumbledore, "as do I..." He frowned. "In fact..."  
  
McGonagall twisted around to look at him. "Oh, no. I've seen that look before. Albus..."  
  
"It's worth a try, anyway," the headmaster continued, ignoring her, already off in his own little Minerva-free world. "It couldn't make matters worse, at least..."  
  
"Albus, no! You _can't_ be serious!"  
  
"She's right, you know," said Black. "There's only room for one of us."  
  
"Thank the gods," Vector muttered.  
  
"Hear, hear!" said Snape, raising his nigh-empty brandy bottle to the Arithmancy professor in a toast.  
  
Dumbledore had yet to return to their plain of existence. "And as Sirius and Severus were so kind to volunteer..."  
  
Two heads snapped in his direction.  
  
"Volunteer?" Black asked.  
  
"For what?" added Snape.  
  
"To track down the cause of our magical malady, of course. Sirius, you're a half-blood, you know the Muggle world -- and Severus, you're nearly as learned as Lara in ancient relics and runes, and your knowledge of potions and curses _would_ come in handy were either of you to encounter any medical trouble--"  
  
Black held up his hands. "Hold on -- stop the train before it wrecks -- just what exactly are you saying, Professor?"  
  
"Whatever it is," Snape interrupted, "it had better not involve myself working with you in any context other than our employment at this school."  
  
"Oh, but it does, Severus, it does," Dumbledore nodded, a frighteningly manic twinkle in his eye. "You and Sirius are going to find out who did this, locate them, and convince them to change us back."  
  
"You're drunk, sir," said Filch, not even glancing up from his game.  
  
"A little tipsy, mayhaps," Dumbledore conceded, "but not drunk, no."  
  
"Then you're daft," mumbled Vector.  
  
"Victoria, you could go as well--"  
  
She paled.  
  
"--a sort of calming female influence, to make sure they don't kill each other and cause more problems than they're meant to be solving."  
  
"Oh, sir, I really don't think that's wise -- I've gotta say, if Snape doesn't end up killing Black, _I_ very well might."  
  
"You always hurt the ones you love," Black sneered, and leapt back when Vector lunged for him. Unfortunately, she was hindered by Hooch's death-grip on her shoulders -- the woman hadn't become a renowned Quidditch Seeker by being slow -- and was reduced to muttering obscenities that would have had Ron Weasley taking down notes for future insults.  
  
"This is outrageous!" Snape shouted. Hagrid grunted at the sudden noise and rolled over on his other side -- and consequentially on top of Trelawney, who squeaked and somehow managed to wriggle upper torso free before falling back to sleep. "Who's going to teach our classes?"  
  
"Substitutes, other teachers...it shouldn't be too difficult to arrange something -- Poppy knows a thing or two about potion-making; she could take over your students temporarily. And Irma--" The librarian looked up at the sound of her name. "--I know you've always been rather adept at Arithmancy."  
  
"Albus, honestly, are you certain this is wise?" McGonagall asked, her forehead creased with worry lines that would become permanent later on in her life.  
  
"My dear, I am always certain."  
  
"And if we don't agree?" demanded Snape.  
  
"Then...I suppose you'll just have to place your faith in the Ministry's capabilities. Though, Severus, I never figured you that big of a fool."  
  
That did it. He'd insulted Snape's intelligence -- now there was nothing left for the proud man to do but prove him wrong.  
  
Snape seethed silently for a few moments before focusing his scowl on Black. "All right. I'll go. But only if _he_ makes an effort to not be the stupid git we all know and despise."  
  
"Ooh! Ooh!" Vector exclaimed. "My condition's the same as his!"  
  
Dumbledore only smiled, and looked to Black. "Sirius, do you promise not to be a stupid git?"  
  
"Me?! But -- _they_ --"  
  
"Humour me, Sirius."  
  
Black glared down at the water glass as Filch snapped another Sickle into it. "...Ipromisenottobeagit. But _they've_ gotta swear not to be pillocks!"  
  
"Very well. Victoria, Severus?"  
  
They swore (well, sort of -- Vector garbled all the words except 'pillock', which she practically yelled in Black's direction, and Snape's was in a form of old Latin only Dumbledore could understand), and the matter was finished. Almost.  
  
Sinistra sighed, a smug, languid smile on her face. "Poor Vic and Severus. You both know I'd take your place if given the chance, but seeing as how you've both already sworn..."  
  
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose mischievously. "Actually, Selene..."  
  
"Oh, bloody hell! No!"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"All right, then what for, hm? I'm not going unless my presence on this little quest has a valid reason." She nodded in a 'hmph, so there' sort of way and folded her arms over her chest.  
  
"Well...let's see..." said Vector, fully intent on making sure that if she had to suffer, Sinistra was going to bear the pain with her. Suddenly, she snapped her fingers.  
  
"Eureka?" Black asked.  
  
"I have found it!" she exclaimed. "You watch the stars, right? We're bound to be going places that haven't been explored in maybe centuries -- your job is to watch the stars and make sure we don't get lost."  
  
Sinistra gaped at her. "And you call _me_ a traitor? Just do a bloody Point Me spell!"  
  
"That'll give us directions, yeah, but it won't tell us where we _are_. We need you. You're coming."  
  
Sinistra's eyes widened in panic. She glanced helplessly around the room, finally settling on Hooch, giving the hawk-eyed girl her best "For the love of god, save me!" face, but to no avail.  
  
"Don't look at me -- you dug your own grave."  
  
Dumbledore clapped his hands twice, a ridiculous grin stretching across his mouth. "Then it's settled. Everyone note that Professors Black, Snape, Sinistra and Vector are embarking on a noble journey, first thing tomorrow! Er -- today!"  
  
"Today?!"  
  
"Today. Pack your bags, young ones -- a'hunting you shall go."  
  
"I think I might cry."  
  
"I think I might wretch."  
  
"We noble few."  
  
"We band of buggered."  
  
~*~  
  
End Act Two. Act Three -- "Road trip?" "Road trip."  
  
Wow, large positive response to this one. We must thank Laura Beth, Anya Levvy, sapphireskies, Lataradk, Silver*Chime, Tess, bluemeanies, Indarae, Elspeth (there IS a reason for them all being reduced to the same age -- that comes later :), katie, Alchemine (whom I'll (Veruka) address at the bottom, 'cause response is lengthy), Daniz, NiKitKat, Dahlia (I knew I'd heard that phrase somewhere before... ;), and Nai. *wipes brow* Thank you, thanks, ta, danka, gracias, merci. :)  
  
And to Alchemine: Girls usually do mature faster...hm. Was basing it on my freak self -- I grew like a weed until about six months ago, when I finally stopped at five-ten, so I was a few inches shorter at fifteen. Faith reckons she stopped about then, too, but I think she was just abnormally slow. I'm invoking my artistic license -- wizards live longer than normal humans, who's to say they might not age a tad slower than Muggles? McGonagall seems a bit spritely for seventy, after all, and Dumbledore...'nuff said. ;) So. Yeah. Thassit. 


	4. Bewitched, Beetled and Bewildered

Disclaimer: All characters are property J.K. Rowling; no © infringement intended or profit made.

Notes: Finally overcame distraction and got back to writing this.  
Never been to Kenmore, don't know if there's a used car dealership there. Artistic licence, yadda, blah. And this takes place in 2001, as we're choosing to ignore the whole 'ooh, this date was in '91!' thing, because '95 had awful fashion sense. So there. And--Dudley had a Playstation in the first book that was referred to as being kind of old. They did not have Playstations in '90-'91, let alone kind of old ones. Nyah. Oh, and--there need not be mention of the WTC bombing, though this takes place around that time. No disrespect meant, but it really doesn't fit. P.S. -- we placed Hogwarts to be somewhere in Tayside, Scotland, south of Kenmore. There's a lake and stuff.

**Chapter Three - Bewitched, Beetled and Bewildered**

"I can't believe this," Sinistra mumbled to herself for the twentieth time in an hour as she stuffed pair upon pair of socks into her trunk. "I'm a professor at one of the most prestigious wizarding schools in the world, at the top of my field...I'm also fifteen years old and am about to embark on a potentially lengthy trip with Severus Snape, Victoria Vector, and Sirius Black...good god, I'm a character in a badly-written wish-fulfilment story." She paused, frowning momentarily before moving on from socks to underthings. "I can't believe this..."

Though Dumbledore's inclusion of her in the newly-assembled Band of Buggered had sobered her faster than a bucket of ice water to the head, she was still in a half-daze. The headmaster planned to announce their going away to the students at breakfast, immediately after which they were to leave for their first destination, Inverurie. He had...neglected to mention their departure to the Ministry for fear they'd attempt to help -- something which rarely ended up as intended. Because they lacked the ability to Apparate, it had been decided that they would take the Muggle route of doing things, and drive.

"Why can't we take broomsticks?" Snape had asked.

"It's not going to be a short trip, Severus," Dumbledore, calm as ever, had explained. "It would be...imprudent to fly, even if you shrank your luggage. Trust me -- I'm saving your rear. Quite literally."

As no one else knew a damn thing about Muggle automobiles, he'd sent Black by Floo Powder to procure one, estimating the opening hour of a dealership to be around eight o'clock, which meant that, barring complications both there and at Gringotts, he should have been arriving back at the castle sometime around nine. The trip was dipping into the school's budget -- the car, petrol for it, lodgings, food -- but it had been agreed that it was worth it.

Sinistra topped her underthings with a spare cloak and checked the clock sitting on her bedside table -- half-past eight. She should probably put in a final appearance at the Great Hall. Who knew when she would see it again.

Before shutting her trunk lid, she glanced around the room to see if she'd forgotten anything, counting down on a mental checklist. _Socks, underthings, toiletries, cloak, robes, boots, telescope, books, wand -- always good, that -- Floo Powder, star charts, money, Apparating license that means fuck all now..._ "Think that covers it," she said aloud, closing the trunk and locking it securely. After muttering a lightening charm, she hefted it onto her back, grimacing when she found that it weighed a great deal more than it normally would after such a charm. _Bloody hell, Vic wasn't kidding when she said we weren't at full strength..._

Staggering a bit and praying that she wouldn't end up pitching down all eleven flights of stairs from her tower room to the ground floor -- she wasn't the most graceful person to begin with, and the gawkiness of adolescence could do nothing but add to that sad fact -- she began her descent.

By the time she'd reached the seventh floor, her face was flushed and she was breathing hard as a Hippogriff in heat. _Perhaps I **should** have quit smoking..._ Thinking death imminent, she straightened, allowing the trunk to drop unceremoniously on the steps before following suit, collapsing like a victim of the Jelly-Legs Curse. "Oh, come on," she groused. "If I'm a character in a badly-written novel, where the hell's my knight in shining armour whose supposed to come rescue my delicate ass from such gruelling work?"

As if on cue, two flaming red heads bobbed up the staircase that led from the seventh floor to the sixth, snickering and whispering conspiratorially to each other. Sinistra cocked her head.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding -- what the hell. They'll do. Oi, Weasleys!" she shouted, and the twins snapped to attention, innocent expressions immediately slipping over their features. Then they spotted her, spotted that she looked to be in no position to reprimand them, relaxed a little and made their way over.

"Professor Sinistra," said Fred (or was it George?), "what can we do ya for?"

She glowered at the identical grins on their faces, but was too tired to scold whichever one was the culprit of the lewd remark. "Care to help a damsel in distress carry this dastardly trunk down to the Entrance Hall?"

They exchanged a glance, shrugged, and went around to pick up her trunk on either side before lifting it up on their shoulders with the sort of easy strength that came with being a Beater.

"Good boys," she praised them, slowly getting to her feet. "Ten points to Gryffindor."

"Ta much, Professor S."

"Dumbledore told us you, Snape, Black and Vector were shoving off. Where're you headed?"

"The stone circles at Inverurie, to begin with. After that...I suppose wherever the wind takes us," she replied with a small sigh.

"Wicked."

"Yeah, but -- how're you gonna stand being with Snape and Black for days on end, maybe months? I think I'd be a nutter after a few hours with those two. Granted, they're all right apart -- at least, Black is -- but together? Ouch."

"Oh, Professor Snape isn't that bad, once you get to know him," she protested, and was met with matching quizzical looks.

"So _that's_ how she's going to manage it, Fred; she's already a nutter."

"And at such a young age, too." Fred clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "It's tragic, really. Almost heartbreaking."

"You're both horrible. Don't make me regret my earlier generosity."

"Aye aye, Cap'n."

"Our lips are sealed."

They made it down to the Entrance Hall where Vector already was, kicking her trunk almost lazily down the staircase opposite the one Sinistra and the twins were at the base of.

"Hate to leave so abruptly, Professor S.," said George, "but Mr. Weasley and I have an urgent matter that needs tending to. Don't we, Mr. Weasley?"

"Right you are, Mr. Weasley," agreed Fred. They both bowed politely to Sinistra and said in unison, "Good day, miss," before scurrying back up the stairs.

Vector's trunk approached, skidding to a halt near Sinistra's feet, and was soon followed by Vector herself, who arrived just in time to catch the tail-end of their retreat. "Those boys'll be the death of Filch," she snickered.

"Won't they, though?"

They stood dumbly for a few moments, staring blankly at the space where the twins had been.

"So..." Vector mused.

"So..." Sinistra agreed.

"I guess we should go say our good-byes to the students."

"I guess."

"Well then." The blonde stepped aside, motioning toward the doors to the Great Hall. "After you."

Sinistra started for the colossal dining room, and Vector followed a step behind.

~*~

Snape half-heartedly picked at his plate of eggs, looking up every so often to glare at a random student. The breakfast hour was winding down -- only five minutes left until they were meant to leave, and Black had yet to return from his jaunt up to Kenmore. _Typical,_ he thought to himself, no small amount of bitterness in his inner monologue. _Probably crashed the bloody thing within five minutes of driving it..._

The students had cheered after Dumbledore's announcement of their professors' departure, though whether that was due to their commendation of the reluctant gesture of heroism or their happiness at being Potions master-free for possibly months, it had been impossible to tell. Snape's money was on the latter, regardless, and such was marked down in the betting book.

"Three minutes," Vector announced after checking her watch for the dozenth time. She drummed her fingers nervously on the table, and Snape stopped himself when he realised he'd been doing the same thing.

"Any last words?" Dumbledore asked.

"None that I can repeat with the students present," she replied. The headmaster gave her a gentle smile.

"I have a question," Sinistra piped up. "How many of you are virgins again?" She raised her hand.

"Selene!" Flitwick gasped, but chortled nonetheless -- and kept his hand curiously down. As did Snape. As did Hooch, and Vector and -- McGonagall?

"Minerva, you minx!"

"What? I was very mature for my age! I approached the whole thing very scientifically."

"Pfft," hissed Hooch. "Where's the fun in that? I don't buy it."

McGonagall blushed crimson. "Well...perhaps my curiosity wasn't _strictly_ limited to the scientific..."

"Minx," Sinistra reinforced, and the deputy headmistress covered her face with her hands.

"I was an early bloomer," she muttered through a small gap between her palms. "Now let us never speak of it again."

Hagrid chuckled, his own cheeks pink from the conversation topic, and patted her consolingly on the shoulder.

It was then that one of the doors creaked open, and Sirius Black swaggered jovially through them, twirling a set of car keys around his right middle finger. He sent a wave Harry's way and strode up to the High Table, where nearly everyone was looking suddenly anxious.

"I trust everything went well?" asked Dumbledore.

"Splendidly, as a matter of fact."

"What did you get?" enquired Flitwick, all but standing on the table in anticipation.

"You'll see," said Sirius cryptically. Snape rolled his eyes.

"Well, breakfast is over now," said Vector, glancing yet again at her watch. "Let's see it, then."

The whole of the High Table, along with a few students wishing to bid their professors farewell, exited the Great Hall and headed toward the front lawn of the school.

At first sight of the contraption, most went slack-jawed, and Snape was the first one to voice what was most likely the thought running through everyone's minds.

"That. Is not. A car."

Black looked wounded, and rested a protective hand on the vehicle's hood. "Hey! This is a _classic_, I'll have you know."

"Um...isn't it a bit...small?" Sinistra asked.

"I don't think it's small in the least," said Flitwick, though his opinion counted for naught in that particular department.

"What's holding it together, spellotape or dirt?"

"Mr. Malfoy, do keep your comments to yourself," said Dumbledore.

"I dunno," Vector cocked her head speculatively, "I think it's a rather valid question."

"Oh, _nice_," Black grumbled. "We'll never get anything done, pessimistic as you people are. Just give her a chance, would you? Throw a couple space-making charms on her interior -- I'm sure between all of us we can manage that much -- she'll be perfect."

'Perfect' to Sirius was, apparently, a vintage Volkswagen Beetle covered in chipping rust-red paint -- or was that actual rust? It was difficult to tell.

"Well, I for one think it's a marvellous contraption," Dumbledore nodded firmly, smiling. "Waste not, want not. It will serve its purpose."

"Thank you." Black turned to the others. "See? Dumbledore's on my team."

There were a few somewhat awkward moments of silence until Vector shrugged and reluctantly took the initiative. "Well, come on, then. Let's slap some charms on her and get on our way."

It only took two of them -- Vector and Flitwick -- to get the enlargement charms situated at the appropriate angles and strengths, first for the inside of the vehicle, and then the bonnet, as the thing's engine appeared to be in the boot. Trunks were loaded, and within no time, the group was saying their good-byes.

"Send Hedwig in a day or so, eh?" Sirius asked Harry after wrapping the boy in a hug.

"Sure thing. Be _careful_, would you?"

"Always. I'm Mr. Caution Man."

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes in a very Hermione-esque way.

"Good luck, sir," said Draco, holding his hand out to Snape. "There's no doubt you'll need it."

"Indeed, Mr. Malfoy," Snape muttered, casting a glare Black's way as he shook the boy's hand. "Indeed."

"Do hurry back, Professor," Hermione said to Vector, then lowered her voice to a whisper, "I really don't fancy having to take Arithmancy with Madam Pince any longer than I absolutely have to."

"There, there," Vector sighed, patting the girl somewhat awkwardly on the shoulder. "Neither would I. Don't worry, though -- we'll be back 'fore you know it. I hope."

"Any chance of a hug, Professor?" a Slytherin seventh-year asked Sinistra.

"Not for all the Galleons in Gringotts, Montague."

"Damn. A handshake, then?"

"Well...all right. ...Montague...Montague, I'd like my hand back, please...Montague...RUFUS! I'll chew your hand off at the wrist if I have to! Thank you."

Within fifteen minutes, the four unlikely adventurers were piling into the car, which ended up having the same internal amount of space as a nice sedan. Sinistra had been voted to sit next to Sirius in the passenger's seat, with Snape behind her and Vector behind the only one of them who possessed the ability to drive. They were just about to pull out of the drive when two identical bodies hurled themselves on top of the car's bonnet, shouting for them to stop. Sirius drove about ten feet more before complying. The Weasley twins slid to the ground, windows were rolled down, and two mischievous faces poked inside the car on either side.

"You can't go yet," said Fred.

"Right," his twin agreed. "We haven't given you your going-away present yet."

Snape looked dubious. "Dare I ask."

"Here," said George, pulling something large, white and round out from behind his back. "We figured you might need one of these somewhere along the road."

"We even personalised it for you," said Fred. Indeed, painted in still-wet and dripping ink were the words 'To Professors Black, Vector, Sinistra and Snape: May Your Quest Not Go Down the Toilet. Good Luck -- Messrs. Gred & Forge Weasley, September 9th, 2001'.

Black grinned as Sinistra accepted the gift, holding it at arm's length and tossing it into the back seat, where it landed with a short clatter between a scowling Snape and frowning Vector.

"Ne'er has a finer toilet seat been presented," he said. "Our thanks to you, fine gentlemen."

Both boys saluted them before ducking out of the car and standing like Buckingham Palace guards as the Band of Buggered sped off down the drive, leaving their waving friends behind. It took all of two seconds for the bickering to begin.

"Bloody hell!" Sinistra exclaimed, bracing herself with one hand gripping the armrest and both feet against the dashboard as Sirius turned the car sharply around the curves of the drive, narrowly avoiding making it roll over completely. Next to her, Black feigned innocence.

"What?" he asked.

"A first-year could steer this thing better than you," Vector snapped.

"You think you could do better?"

"She probably couldn't reach the pedals," Sinistra smirked. "What with her towering height of, what is it now, five-foot-one?"

"Oh, and the three inches you have on me are simply staggering."

"They are."

"Gobshite."

"As much as I hate to take part in this little snipe-session," Severus sighed, glaring at the female contingent of the group, "I have to agree; I, too, have an unwillingness to die in this tin contraption, let alone with you three -- Black, slow the fuck down."

Oddly enough, Sirius did -- to a ridiculous crawl. Out the window, Selene saw that an actual beetle was plodding along past and well ahead of the car.

"Oi!" Victoria exclaimed in protest. "Slow, man, but not slower than snails fuck."

"Charming visual."

"Bug off, Snape."

"You people are never satisfied, are you?" Sirius grumbled.

"What can we say?" said Vector. "We're insatiable."

Sirius arched an eyebrow and kept his mouth shut, as his brain was now lacked a considerable amount of blood. _I'd forgotten this part of adolescence..._ he mused to himself. _...wait. No I hadn't. Wow. Remus was right -- I never **did** outgrow this part...that can be taken in so many contexts..._ He glimpsed the blonde in the rear-view mirror -- she was staring out the window, chin resting on her hand, squinting at the early-morning sunlight. She moved very suddenly, making a little disgusted noise as she rolled her neck and slouched further down in her seat, and Sirius jumped.

Selene frowned at him. "Black?"

"Nothing!" he snapped, then backpedalled. "I mean, yes?"

"...you are so damn strange."

In the backseat, Severus snorted. "Strange is putting it a bit mildly, don't you think?"

Sirius glared at him in the mirror. "Said the dungeon-bat who does nothing but skulk and brew foul-smelling soup."

"Oh, pardon me, _Professor_ Black. How very strange that you hold that title, and yet you've been sent away after scarcely a week of fulfilling its responsibilities."

"Well, I might have started sooner had I not been so inconvenienced by a twelve-year incarceration. Being framed for murder wasn't originally in my life plans."

"You're right -- I apologise. You wanted to be the murdered, didn't you? Pity that didn't work out for you. I'd have supported it whole-heartedly."

"You have no heart, you slimy git."

"And you have no brain."

"And I have no courage, and Selene needs to get back home to Kansas," Victoria interrupted. "Give it a rest already. Hypocrites."

Selene twisted around in her seat to face the other girl. "Kansas?"

"Just click your heels together three times and say 'There's no place like home'."

"...right. I'm surprised you and Sirius don't get along better -- you're _both_ damn strange."

"Bite your tongue, twit."

"Do it for me."

"Pfft. Get Snape t'do it for you."

The Astronomy professor's eyebrows nearly met her hairline. "Excuse me?"

"I second that," Severus snapped, looking appalled. "The only thing I plan on biting on this absurd quest is food, thank you very much."

Sirius' grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Must...not...make...comment..."

"Speak and you _will_ be the murdered." Selene glowered at him dangerously, and there was actual, bullshit-ye-not silence for at least a couple of miles.

~*~

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"Yes. Get out."

"Spoilsport," Vector mumbled, slouching further down in her seat in the still-moving car. "How long've we been driving?"

"Twenty minutes," Snape growled. He'd managed to wedge himself into his corner of the car, as far away from the surrounding people as possible, and had his nose buried in what looked to be an exceedingly boring book, though his eyes didn't appear to be scanning any words, and every so often he'd scratch at the same page he'd been on for the past ten minutes with the tip of the quill he'd been using as a bookmark. Vector sidled closer to him and tried to look over his shoulder, and he promptly hunched up even tighter in the corner and sent an acid glare her way.

"Whatcha writin'?" she asked.

"None of your business," he hissed, holding the book to his chest protectively.

"Is it a mutiny plan? Are you gonna take control of the car from Sirius? Can I help?"

"Possibly, perhaps, and no. When did you get so---"

"Curious?"

"Annoying."

"'Round the same time you got a broomstick shoved up your bum."

"Forever, then?" Sirius queried.

"Prat," Vector muttered, then turned her attentions to the Astronomy professor, who conspicuously hadn't contributed any cutting remarks to the conversation, and was squirming uncomfortably in her seat every few seconds. "What's up with you?" she asked the other girl. "Severus share a bit of his broomstick? _Shut up_, Black," she added before Sirius could comment.

"And you call _me_ a spoilsport..." he grumbled.

"It's got nothing to do with Severus' broomstick," Sinistra groused, ignoring the Potions master's eyebrow she just _knew_ was arching behind her and shifting again. "I need a loo."

"Already?" Sirius gaped. "Why didn't you go before we left?"

"I didn't have to then! But then I had tea at breakfast and..."

Vector didn't even try to hide her smirk. "Well, we've got a toilet seat and trees for miles..."

"Bugger that," Black put in. "Just roll down the windows."

"Piss off."

"I thought that was your plan of action, not mine."

"I hate you all," Sinistra pouted, folding her arms over her chest and sinking down into her seat.

"Okay, okay, we'll stop," Sirius relented. "But no more tea for you. Ever. From now on it's only beer and coffee."

"Oh, _vast_ improvements, those," Snape glowered, then scribbled something down in his book. Sirius frowned at him through the rear-view mirror.

"What _are_ you writing, anyway?"

"Your obituary," Snape smoothly replied. "I can't be expected to spend this entire trip in reality. My sanity would rebel."

"Well, far be it for me to jeopardise that which you don't have in abundance to begin with."

"Quite."

There was a short spell of silence.

"...are we there yet?"

"Severus?" Selene asked.

"Hmm?"

"Do Vic's obituary as well?"

"Oy!"

"With pleasure."

~*~

End part three. Part four: Inverurie, The Motel, and Muggle Clothing, w/pos. of Meanwhile, Back At Hogwarts... }:)

And...wow, the reviewer number is growing. We're just going to panic and thank all of you: Thank you! and hope you enjoyed this bit as well. Next part will be out sooner, promise.

Oh, and, little note to Silver*Chime, 'bout the booze thing: Again with the using of ourselves as examples. Maybe we're freakish and have unnaturally high alcohol tolerances, but at fifteen we could drink...a lot...and be fine (drunk, yes, but not ill-ew-sick-up-drunk). So we figure if we can do it, they can do it. :) 


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